Another Six Months
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Starts off six months after the story Six Months ended
1. Chapter 1

House grunted, tossing on the bed.

Chase sighed, sitting up and reaching towards him, finding his elbow, then working up to his face.

It was creased with pain, screwed up into a grimace.

Chase scooted himself closer to House, resting his head on the older doctor's shoulder.

"Shhh," he said quietly, running his hand over House's chest, "it's ok." House got really agitated if the pain got too bad for him to handle, "how bad is it? Can you give me a number?"

He heard House swallow, "alternating between five and seven. Cramping..." he trailed off, voice tense with pain.

Chase turned onto his stomach, crossing his left leg over House's good one, "hang in there."

He felt a movement.

"House, what is it about being in pain that makes you forget I can't see?"

A forced, stressed laugh.

"Dunno. I nodded, by the way."

Chase sighed, feeling House tense beneath his body.

"That's not a seven."

"Spiking," House ground out, voice even more stressed than before.

Chase moved his hand down, slowly so House could stop him if he wanted, and carefully, gingerly, slid his hand under House's clenched one, rubbing the hard, knotting muscles.

House suddenly pushed him away, and Chase thought he had gone too far, but the sound of desperate retching dispelled that thought.

He shifted further to the right of the bed, sliding his arm around House's middle and pressing the length of his body against House's.

House's hand covered his, as the older doctor finally stopped, panting.

"You ok?"

A rustle.

Chase sighed.

"Yes, no?"

"Dunno. 's really bad. Really..."

Chase bit his lip as House tensed again, squeezing tighter.

The pain had been getting worse, even House admitted that now. There was no evidence of atrophy on the MRI, at least according to Wilson, Cuddy, Cameron, Foreman, and House.

Two falls in the last week had left House in bed most of yesterday and today, but the pain only seemed to be getting worse.

House suddenly turned in Chase's grip, rolling onto his left side and curling up against Chase, panting.

Chase felt wet soaking through his shirt and bit his lip.

House's hand tangled in the younger doctor's shirt, gripping it tightly.

"House."

"No."

Chase sighed.

"House, come on. This is way too bad. At least call Wilson."

House shook his head into Chase's shoulder.

"No. Not that... pathetic," he said, panting between words.

"House, it's not pathetic, it's practical."

House shook his head again.

Chase raised his head, though he couldn't exactly look at the ceiling.

Then he pushed House away, gently untangling him.

"I'm calling Wilson."

"No!"

House hand had shot out, gripping his wrist.

Chase turned back to him.

"House...."

"No," he repeated, "please."

Chase froze.

"House, what the hell?!"

A long sigh from the bed.

"I don't... not again, ok? Every time, I end up calling Wilson, and he goes all gooey on me, and all caring, and acts like I'm one of his stupid cancer patients. I can't stand that happening again."

Chase stood, still, for a moment.

"But you don't mind my concern?"

The hand on his wrist squeezed briefly, gently.

"Not because of what you're thinking. Well, yeah, kinda. Because you get how pity sucks. You wouldn't ever do that to me."

Chase swallowed, startled by the trusting, intimate words.

He had never had a relationship this real, this... alive. It was like his life, his emotions, his state of being were a series of notes, and this was the highest one yet, filled with tension and reminding him that there was so far to fall if he screwed up, back into the low, aching notes of loneliness in his apartment and the darkness.

He climbed back onto the bed, scooted himself over until he was against the warm body of his partner, and felt his way down the familiar landscape.

"Then how about a distraction?" he asked, hand on House's face, ready to guide himself towards it.

He felt House smile tensely beneath his fingers.

* * *

An hour or so later, House was snoring peacefully, pain forgotten in the rush of endorphins.

Chase was lying half across him, head resting on his shoulder, arm across his chest.

He felt the slow rise and fall beneath him, and smiled a little.

He had never felt this, either.

The feeling of being able to know and do exactly what was needed to bring comfort and happiness to another human being.

The feeling of knowing he was the only one who could do that for that one person.

The feeling that someone else was there to enjoy that feeling in reverse.

He had failed.

He had failed to take care of a person he cared about, she had died, and he had failed.

He had failed patients, he had failed his mother.

His father had always thought he failed.

But this time... he didn't even have to try to succeed.

All he had to do was just be him.

And that, more than anything else, was the most wonderful feeling in the world for him.

A kind of relief that soaked through to his bones and made him feel light.

He loved every inch of House's prickly asshole self, and he knew House loved him back.

He knew this had started as a kiss in a cold hospital room, but it had turned into so much more, over the last six months.

He loved every minute he spent with House. Not to say that he spent all his time with him, House still went out bowling or whatever with Wilson—when his leg could handle it—, Chase still went out to bars with Foreman and Cameron.

Foreman had gotten over the awkwardness less than a week after he had been back, but Cameron was still edgy.

His panic attack in a crowded bar they had gone out to after work hadn't helped, though Foreman had seemed pretty unaffected by it; just dragged him outside, got him to sit on a bench, and talked quietly to him.

He had then called house, and held the phone to chase's ear, when it became clear Chase didn't really know who Foreman was right then.

But every moment he *was* with House, which was most of the time at home and at work, and almost all the time he was going somewhere, had that same high note as he was feeling right now.

He shifted himself a little bit further on top of House, and closed his useless eyes to go to sleep.

House's worsening pain aside, Chase had never felt so comfortable and happy with his life.

* * *

The next morning, he called a cab to take them to the hospital, because House couldn't move under his own power without screaming.

Chase spent most of the ride rubbing House's back as the older doctor panted into Chase's shoulder, whimpering desperately at every bump in the road.

The taxi driver kept asking if they were sure they didn't need an ambulance instead.

Chase wasn't sure if he was sure, but House would have killed him if he had made a scene like that.

By the time they reached the hospital, House was leaking tears of pain onto Chase's shoulder, and Chase was extremely worried.

The taxi driver ran inside to get help, while Chase carefully helped his trembling partner out of the seat, holding most of his weight.

Familiar, clacking footsteps accompanied the taxi driver's scuffing ones, and Chase could hear the sound of a slightly squeaky wheel approaching as well.

Cuddy and the taxi-driver helped Chase transfer House into the wheelchair, and, after paying his fare—which the cabbie tried to brush off—Chase followed cuddy inside with a hand on her arm. He had somehow managed to forget his stick, in all the hurry and worry.

House's skyrocketing heartrate earned him a bed in the ER, and Chase stayed outside, knowing he would just be in the way.

Foreman's footsteps approached a hand on his shoulder.

"You wanna go in there? I'll get you out if it's too noisy."

Chase shook his head.

"I'll be in the way."

"In the way of what? They hooked him up to a bunch of monitors, started him on pain meds, gave him a sedative. There's nobody even working on him."

"Foreman."

"Ok."

Chase was silently thanking anyone who was listening that Foreman wasn't stupid, and got without his explaining that he would lose it as soon as he entered the noisy emergency room, wound up as he was.

* * *

Half an hour later, House had been transferred to a regular room, and Chase was lying on the bed next to him, arm across his chest again.

He was asleep thanks to the sedation, but the machine beeping his heartrate told Chase he was still in some amount of pain.

Eventually the sedatives wore off, and House grunted, then relaxed, shifting into a more comfortable position on the bed.

"Hey," said Chase, snuggling closer, "how's the pain?"

"A lot better."

Chase nodded into House's shoulder.

"You know... there's something I should probably tell you..."

"About you?"

"No, about your--"

Cuddy's footsteps entered, Chase sat up.

"Don't worry, Chase," she said, coming in and touching him on the shoulder, "I just wanted to see how House was doing."

Chase nodded, lying back down.

"You're not just here to check on me, I know that self-important step. What do you want?" asked House, and Chase could hear the smirk in his voice.

"There was a pneumonia outbreak in the oncology department, that spread up and down a floor. If you can help, you're helping. If you can't, I'm going to move you to a different floor, since it's pretty virulent, and I don't want two department heads getting sick."

"Wilson?" asked Chase, frowning.

"Yes. Not a bad case, but he's definitely sick."

"Where?"

"In the quarantine area. Which you're only going to be allowed in if you're helping."

House snorted.

"Smart. I think I can manage, as long as I don't have to do too much standing while examining patients, and you tell me what room Wilson's in."

"302. And you better not spend all your time hanging out with him. Chase, you can help too, but I'm not making you if you're uncomfortable."

"What about me! What if I'm uncomfortable?" whined House.

Chase could practically hear cuddy roll her eyes, as she walked out the door.

House shifted next to him.

"You wanna go back to the office, or come with?" he asked in a much calmer tone.

Chase smiled.

"I can still *listen* to medical things."

"Good. I was worried I was going to have to sit through Wilson coughing questions about his precious patients at me by myself."

Chase smiled, holding on to House's shoulder as he climbed off the bed.

"Glad to help," he said, laughing. Which, honestly, he was. He was glad there was still something hands-on he could do, and he was glad that neither cuddy nor House questioned him on that.

* * *

He ended up sitting on a stool while a line of people came towards him, and he told them to breath in, out, hold....

House was on a stool next to him, close enough to whisper him though any problems, as well as keep him from freaking out in the noisy room.

The next patient in, he lifted his stethoscope, pressed it against their shirt.

"Chase."

"Shh, House. I'm trying to listen."

"Chase. Stop."

Chase was frowning.

"There's lung crackling, but it doesn't sound like pneumonia...."

"Chase," said House, loudly and firmly.

Chase withdrew the stethoscope, turning towards House.

"*What*?"

"Remember that thing I was going to tell you earlier today?"

"Yeah..."

"Um, don't be mad at me for not getting to finish my sentence."

"What are you talking about, House?" asked Chase, seriously confused.

"Robert."

Chase stopped, midway through opening his mouth to ask House another question.

He turned back to his patient.

Then he swallowed.

"You have lung cancer. It's advanced," he said, in a low monotone. He was too shocked to say anything else.

"I know," said the familiar voice, "I've been getting treatment from Dr. Wilson on an outpatient basis."

Chase swallowed again.

"House, you knew?"

"When he showed up and told you he was here for the SLE conference. I figured it out."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Then? Because he asked not me to, and because of what you told me."

"Wilson didn't tell you? Wilson didn't tell me?"

"Patient confidentiality. Or analism, depends on your point of view."

Chase sighed.

"Robert...."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Um... what happened?"

Chase climbed off the stool, grabbed House's arm, and dragged him out of there, pushing through groups of people because he didn't have the presence of mind to try and go around them.

House stopped, behind him, and he turned.

"House."

"Can't."

Chase sighed, stepping back towards him and putting his hand on the side of the older doctor's face.

House was sweaty and warm, breathing heavily.

Chase frowned.

"There're chairs over there, right?"

"Yeah."

He ducked under House's right arm, helping him make it over to the chairs, which Chase banged his shin on before stopping.

House lifted his arm, sitting down as Chase held on to his sleeve.

Chase felt House lean forward, rubbing his bad leg.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

A long sight from his left.

"Because I didn't want you to have to feel that you had to worry about a man who had never given you anything back. Or feel guilty because you didn't care."

"He called you. He got me this job."

"No he didn't. I told you that during the interview because I wanted to see how you'd react, not because it was true. I wouldn't hire someone just 'cause their dad made a phone call. You had an interesting reaction, that's why I hired you."

Chase swallowed, leaning against House's side.

"Did it ever occur to you that I could have been there with him?"

A silence.

"No, it didn't," House admitted, "do you think that really could have happened?"

Chase paused for a while, then sighed.

"I guess not. No, you're right. I guess.... I guess I'm not mad at you."

He heard House sigh, relieved.

He sighed as well, resting his head against House's shoulder.

"Can you see him?"

"Yeah. Sitting in a chair. Looks confused. And upset."

Chase closed his eyes, gripping House's sleeve a little tighter.

"You wanna talk to him?"

Chase shook his head.

"No, but... I should."

"Kay. You want me there?"

"No... is that ok?"

"He's *your* dad."

Chase nodded.

House stood, grunting a little, and Chase followed him over, this time at a much slower pace.

House got him sitting in a chair next to his dad, then he heard limping footsteps going away. The noise of the crowd hit him, swirling and confused, disorienting now that House wasn't next to him, but he suppressed the panic.

"What happened, Robert? Car accident?"

"Cancer. Optic chasm extending down the optic tracks and spreading into the hypothalamus," Chase said, in a slow recitation, "you?"

"Stage two carcinoma."

"Didn't sound like it."

Rowan frowned.

"What?"

"Stage four mass in the left lower lobe spreading throughout the left lung. You're on the list for a transplant but the list's too long. You're going to be dead before you get one. Although, given the slowness of the progression--"

"How do you know how slow it progressed?"

"House thought you'd be dead in three months, but it's been over a year, and you're being seen on an outpatient basis. Which means Wilson's got you on an experimental treatment, and it's working."

"How do you know it's experimental?"

"Nothing that's fully approved works that well."

"You're not upset that Dr. House didn't tell you?"

Chase shrugged.

"He made a promise."

"That doesn't usually stop him, does it?"

Chase frowned.

"Are you trying to pin this on him?"

A rustle.

"I can't see you. If you just shrugged, you're an idiot."

"What?"

"Are you trying to pin this on him?"

"No, I just--"

"Yes, you are. Because you want me to feel good towards you and bad towards him, and maybe a little bonding is gonna happen."

"Well... I don't..."

"You left a fifteen year old boy to choose between doing the right thing and letting his mother drink herself to death."

"You shouldn't have had to deal with that, I didn't mean for it to--"

"No, I shouldn't have! In sickness and in health, that ring a bell? How about 'till death do us part? I was fifteen years old, and I understood that more than you. You don't abandon the people you love just because they have problems!"

"Right, and Dr. House, I heard that you went behind his back and told stuff to a man who wanted him fired."

"I didn't love him, he was my boss, I hated him because he always treated me like crap! I also had—have—a screwed-up sense of loyalty, thanks to you!"

"Robert, I never meant for that to happen!"

"I know you didn't! You keep telling me that, do you think it fixes ANYTHING?!" he had stood up, shaking, "do you think I'm just going to FORGIVE you because you didn't MEAN it?!"

"Robby--"

"Don't do that again! Don't call me Robby! I'm not a child, Dad! I stopped being a child the moment you left! Because I had to be the adult, I had to take care of her, I had to grow up in a split second, I nearly had to drop out of school to take care of her! Maybe if I had she would still be alive! Do you have any idea how that feels?! To carry the thought that maybe if I had been a little less selfish, I could have saved her!? To feel guilty about every goddamned day I'm a doctor because if I had dropped out, I maybe could have saved her?! You think you're sorry; well you're not nearly sorry enough! You didn't even come to her funeral, dad! You sent money. You sent goddamned money. Do you know what happened to that money?! I threw it away. I threw it away because I hated you, because I never wanted to have anything to..." he was hyperventilating, his ears were ringing, he was going to pass out...

He stumbled, panting, heard rowan stand to help him, pushed him away, fell—arms caught him from the back, familiar arms.

He turned around, held on to the older doctor, asked him to get him out of there, tried to calm down, tried to not pass out.

House wasn't going anywhere.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," said his father's voice.

"Not nearly good enough," snapped House's, in a tone Chase had never heard before in his life, "not even close."

"It's all I've got."

"Then *you're* not nearly good enough."

House guided Chase away, through the crowd, into the elevator, down the hall, into House's office, onto the recliner, and held him close as he cried, sobbing himself into exhaustion.

Rowan Chase was left absolutely stunned by the protective anger that had been in House's eyes.

He had never seen even a trace of emotion on that face before, besides curiosity.

He shook his head and got to his feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chase sat, curled mostly on top of House in the recliner, breaths slowly calming back to normal.

"Better?"

Chase nodded, but didn't get up.

House shifted his bad leg and was still.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Only the stuff you shouted. That's when I came back over."

Chase sniffed quietly.

"What were you talking about, at the end?"

"He was looking at me like I should forgive him for upsetting you."

"And that got you that angry?"

House shrugged beneath him, "hearing what you were shouting may have made me slightly less receptive to any lack of fault on his part."

Chase laughed quietly, reaching down to check his temperature.

It was normal, so he didn't move.

"How's your leg?"

"Um... not great."

"You still wanna visit Wilson, right?"

"Yeah, but it can wait."

Chase shook his head, "no, you should visit him."

"No, I mean it's going to have to wait. Can't stand up."

"Oh."

Chase dropped the subject, to House's relief.

House rubbed his thumb over Chase's jawbone, sighing.

"You ok?"

Chase nodded, "yeah, I think so. Please tell me Cameron and Foreman weren't in the room."

"Could tell you that, but I'd be lying. Foreman left the room, Cameron looked upset."

"Why'd Foreman leave?"

"Probably 'cause he respected your privacy. Or didn't want to hear it. Or got a page. Or just didn't care."

Chase nodded, sighing.

"I feel stupid. I exploded in front of half the hospital."

"Yeah, well..."

"That's not very comforting."

House snorted.

"Did I ever sign up to be comforting?"

Chase smiled a little.

"No. you've just been managing it without trying."

"Seriously? That's got to stop."

Chase laughed quietly.

"Yeah. Wouldn't want anyone thinking you _cared_, or anything."

"Definitely not."

Chase smiled, shaking his head.

"You suck at not cheering people up."

A soft chuckle.

"Just you. And maybe Wilson. Everyone else finds me depressing. What does that say about you two?"

"We're masochists?"

Another quiet laugh.

The door opened, Foreman's footsteps entered.

Chase swallowed.

"Just came to warn you that Cam's going all gushy. Swear she's going to hold a bake sale to cheer Chase up."

"What exactly is she doing?" asked Chase, frowning.

Foreman was the only person in almost the whole hospital who had been completely unaffected by the change in their relationship. He had just said he'd figured House was lashing out all those years because he liked Chase and didn't know how to deal with it, and Chase was too stunted to figure it out. In a way, it was probably true.

"After she stopped asking me if I thought we should go talk to you, she ran off to get flowers, decided that was a bad idea, and went home to cook something."

House snorted.

"Damn, she's handling the whole thing worse every month."

"No kidding," said Foreman "keeps calling me in the middle of the night because she's having nightmares."

Chase frowned.

"What about?"

"Don't know, she's too upset to talk straight, usually, but I think her husband."

Chase sat up a little bit.

"Maybe I should talk to her."

"Shrug."

Chase snorted.

House carefully maneuvered his way out from under Chase.

"You going to talk to her?" asked Chase.

"_Hell_ no. I'm going to snoop into her past and find out what's bugging her. Exactly what I always do in these situations."

Foreman snorted, shaking his head, and left.

"House, are you sure that's a good idea..." started Chase, frowning.

"Not doing it. Wanted Foreman out of the room."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want him to see me puke."

Chase hurried over, kneeling and bracing House as he leaned over the trash can, miserable.

"You didn't tell me the pain was that bad."

"It wasn't."

"Is it now?"

"Yeah."

Chase bit his lip, rubbing House back as he panted.

"You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, just... don't think I should walk too much for the rest of the day."

Chase nodded, still upset.

"You want me to get some crutches or a wheelchair, so you can visit Wilson?"

House sighed, leaning against him a little bit.

"Yeah, maybe. Give it a minute."

Chase nodded, staying where he was.

After a while, House struggled to his feet, giving Chase a hand up as he braced himself against the desk.

"Think I'm ok."

He took a step and grabbed Chase's shoulder to keep himself from falling, "maybe not."

Chase nodded, helping him back into the recliner.

"Which?"

"Wheelchair. Hate crutches."

Chase nodded, walking out of the room, thankful he had memorized the layout of the floor, because he was still missing his stick.

House sighed, leaning back in the recliner.

Damn infarction.

Damn debridement.

Damn leg.

He dug in his pocket, downing a vicodin.

He was going to have to talk to Wilson about the meds soon. As much as he hated to admit it, the acetaminophen levels were getting pretty high, with the number he was taking in a day.

Chase came back, pushing a wheelchair, and gave him a hand while he got in it.

"I'm gonna call Cameron."

"Your funeral."

"Huh?"

"Might die of caring overdose."

Chase snorted.

"Go talk to Wilson, House."

"Will do. Don't wanna be here when you get sappy female all over you when she explodes."

Chase rolled his eyes, pushing the wheelchair towards the door.

House laughed, wheeling himself out, "yeah, yeah, I'm going already."

They both knew Chase wasn't going to call Cameron, just wanted to think, but neither of them felt it was necessary for that to be said out loud.

* * *

"What *cough* happened to *cough* you?" asked Wilson, eyelids fluttering as he coughed.

House, still in the process of closing the door behind him, sighed.

"Sprained my ankle."

"Lying."

House shrugged.

"Leg's been worse, lately. Dunno why."

Wilson nodded, covering his mouth and nose with an oxygen mask as he waited for House to say why he was here.

"You hear about Chase and his dad?"

Wilson nodded.

House sighed.

"I was angry at him."

Wilson blinked questioningly.

"I was angry at him for making Chase that upset. I... I don't know, snarled at him."

Wilson smiled, coughing a little.

House frowned, picking up the chart.

"Your numbers suck," he informed the younger doctor, looking between the chart and the status screen.

"Sorry?" said Wilson.

House rolled his eyes.

"Get some sleep, moron. And I'm taking these."

Wilson tried to stop him from taking the files, but was unfortunately unable to reach that far because he was chained to his bed.

House snorted, noticing the restraints.

"You try to run for it?"

"Wanted to make sure someone covered an appointment for one of my patients."

"Phone would have worked just as well."

"I've got a fever, give me some slack."

House rolled his eyes.

"Definitely taking these."

"House, those are my patients' files, I need to--"

"You _need_ to _sleep_. Jeeze, am I the only one around here that realized working yourself to death isn't an approved cure for pneumonia? And I thought you and Cuddy were doctors. Morons."

He dumped the files on his lap, turned around, and wheeled himself out.

Wilson sighed, coughing, and closed his eyes.

Annoying as it was, he was slightly touched that House was worrying about him.

* * *

Cameron frowned, as she heard a knock on her door.

Probably Foreman.

She went to check, ignoring the flour on her shirt and hands.

There didn't seem to be anyone there...

The knocking continued.

She frowned.

"Who's there?" she asked, still peering through the peekhole. This was weird.

A face suddenly appeared there, making her jump.

She sighed, floury hand on her chest.

Of course it was House.

She opened the door, blinking as she saw the wheelchair. Oh. He hadn't been screwing with her, he just hadn't been high enough for her to see.

"What are you doing here?"

"Get. Over. Chase."

"I'm not _jealous_...."

"Didn't say you were. But you are fascinated, and uncomfortable with that fascination."

She sighed.

"I'm uncomfortable, yes. Fascinated, maybe. But that's not why I'm having trouble."

"Why."

"House..." she sighed, shaking her head, "you don't really _need_ to know everything about everyone."

"I do if it's affecting their jobs. You don't contradict Chase. Ever."

"He's often right."

"Often is not always. What's going on?"

She sighed, stepping back to let him in.

"My husband. Near the end..."

"He lost his sight, yadda yadda yadda, I know, I read the file."

"You—..." Cameron sighed, shaking her head, "he didn't know me, some of the time. It was hard. It was scary. I don't... I can't describe all of it. I won't tell all of it. He wasn't in his right mind."

House frowned.

"Idiot. Now you've got me interested."

Cameron sighed, leaning against the wall, slightly defeated.

"You want something to drink?"

* * *

"Kiss Cameron."

"What?"

"Kiss Cameron."

Chase turned towards him.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"She's upset because her husband was losing his vision by the end, and he kept having mood swings, and he got rougher and rougher as he got blinder and blinder. She's scared of blind people. She know's it irrational, she knows you're not gonna hurt her, but she keeps dreaming about it. Kiss her."

Chase blinked for a minute.

"How does kissing her solve the problem?"

"I don't mean on the lips. On the cheek or something, maybe when she comes back with the cookies she's making you, which, by the way, smell delicious. Physical contact that's gentle, and unalarming, and perfectly normal for between friends. She hasn't touched you since you came back. Get it in her head that it's ok."

"Why do you care?"

"Because she's only a few steps above useless like this."

Chase considered for a moment.

"You're not jerking my chain, are you?" he asked slowly.

"No. I'm not."

Chase shrugged.

"Ok."

A while passed in silence, as House looked through the files he had confiscated from Wilson's room.

"How's Wilson?" asked Chase eventually.

"Sick. But the sucky no fun kind of sick, not the maybe dying kind of sick."

Chase nodded.

House sighed, leaning back in the chair.

House looked up, as the door opened.

"Hi. Um... who wants cookies?"

Chase stopped reading the newspaper article he had printed out, smiling at Cameron—or at least in her general direction.

"Yum."

She smiled nervously, as Chase stood.

She walked over, handed him a stack of cookies.

He took a bite, and his eyes widened slightly.

"Wow Cam, these are really good."

She flushed.

"My grandmother—"

He kissed her on the eye.

"Oops. Sorry, that was supposed to be your cheek. Thanks for the cookies, Cameron," he said, blushing slightly.

She swallowed, frozen.

Then she smiled a little bit.

"That's ok. I get the idea."

He turned back to his chair, searching for it with the hand not occupied by cookies.

Cameron took his hand, nervously, placing it on the back for him.

He smiled.

She smiled back—not that he noticed.

House sighed quietly to himself, relived that there was no longer a grand canyon between the two. He didn't really care, personally, but Chase was upset about it, and Cameron was a much better doctor when she wasn't scared.


	3. Chapter 3

Chase sighed, as the bed bounced a little.

House was trying not to wake him, he knew...

Chase rolled over, gently putting his hand out until it reached House's elbow.

He scooted closer, resting his arm across House's chest, head on the older doctor's shoulder.

House had been cutting back on the drinks, and the younger doctor knew it was probably for Chase's benefit, but it was making it harder and harder for him to get to sleep.

The increasing pain, coupled with the insomnia he had said he had anyway, make it almost impossible for him to drift off, and even when he did, he woke up every time his leg twinged worse than the baseline pain.

Chase had found one solution to help with the falling asleep, but it didn't keep House from waking up afterwards.

"Dammit," came, muttered softly by the older doctor.

Chase frowned, spreading his fingers lightly over House's face.

House was panting, grimacing, clenching...

Chase bit his lower lip.

"Tomorrow."

The face beneath his hand shook side-to-side.

"House. This isn't good. You need to talk to Wilson."

"Wilson can barely breathe."

"I know. But, House... this is too much. You said it yourself, last night."

House sighed, sliding his arm around Chase's waist.

"Just... I don't want to think about it."

"Neither of us do. But it's happening."

House sighed heavily, then rolled on top of Chase.

Chase pushed him off, patiently.

"No. We're going to talk about this, House. No matter how nice that feels."

House laughed shortly.

Chase sighed, scooting closer again.

"I'm not going to talk to Wilson about it."

"Why not? And don't tell me it's because he's sick."

House sighed.

"Because every time I talk to Wilson, he tells me it's in my head, or there's no change on the MRI, or... he never wants to face it."

Chase nodded, rubbing his hand over House's chest, "you wanna see a pain specialist, instead?"

A pause.

"I..."

"You don't want to face it. Too bad. Wilson or a pain specialist."

House sighed.

"Wilson."

Chase shrugged.

"Ok then. And by the way, there's no way it's psychological."

He felt House turn slightly.

"How do you know?"

"Your leg gets a little bit swollen when it's bad. The scar gets puffy and hot. It's probably not enough to see, but... I can definitely tell."

He heard House swallow, and knew he had said the right thing.

House would never admit it, but he was afraid of his brain doing things he didn't control—like conversion disorders.

* * *

"Are you sure *cough* it's not just stress?" asked Wilson, voice hoarse.

"I'm not _under_ any stress."

"Huh?"

"Wilson..."

"It's not in his head, Wilson."

Wilson blinked at Chase.

House turned around, gripping Chase's hand on the way out, tugging him out after him.

"House..." started Chase, turning around so he wasn't walking backwards, "he's just worried--"

"He's just not facing it."

Chase sighed.

"That's probably true. But either go back there and _make_ him face it, or make an appointment with a pain specialist."

House sighed, tugging him over to the row of chairs along the wall.

Chase sat down to House's left, leaning close.

"House."

"Just... I don't...."

House's voice was upset.

Chase sighed, feeling his way down House's arm to the hand, then gripping it reassuringly.

"You're scared of what might happen. Don't be. It's nowhere near that. Even if it is, there are other solutions."

"What?"

"I was reading... it's possible to sever the nerves going to one particular place. There's about a fifty percent chance of a lingering neuropathy, and a thirty percent chance that there would be numbness or motor problems below the site, but the muscle pain would be gone. They usually only do it for _severe_ chronic pain, which I don't think this counts as yet, but if it gets close to what's scaring you, it would be an option."

"Where did you read that?"

"Podcast. Technically not reading, but whatever."

House sighed, leaning into Chase's shoulder.

That made it... that made it just a little bit easier to face.

"Ok."

Chase smiled.

"Good."

* * *

"It's not showing on the scans because it's not degeneration, or even nerve regrowth. There's just not enough muscle here to support your weight without damage. The constant damage and healing can only go on for so long before the pain starts getting worse.

"I know this is hard to hear, but you need to use a wheelchair for a while, until the muscles have a chance to really recover. Then you'll be on crutches for a while, slowly increasing the amount of weight you're bearing on that limb.

"Eventually you'll probably be able to get away with a single forearm crutch, but I'm afraid the cane is out. The good news is the pain will be cut almost immediately, as soon as you stop using the cane."

Chase, standing next to the exam table as the woman talked, gripped House's hand.

House squeezed back, upset.

"How long for each part?" asked Chase. House had shut down at the beginning of the explanation.

"That's not really my area, I'm afraid. I can tell you that it depends on how much you follow the instructions, as well as how well your body heals. I'm going to refer you to a physical therapist. He's very good, and he specializes in chronic injuries."

Chase nodded.

The woman tried to hand the referral to House, who had closed his eyes and stopped responding, then touched Chase on the shoulder.

Chase opened his palm; she placed the slip of paper in his hand.

He nodded.

"Well, any other questions?"

Chase shook his head, House was silent.

She turned to go.

"Can you give me something that doesn't have acetaminophen in it."

"It doesn't make sense to give you a stronger narcotic, the pain is going to—"

"Same dosage. Just without the acetaminophen."

"Without acetaminophen the temptation to overdose is much stronger, and given what I've heard...."

"I'm not looking to get high. I'm looking to still have a liver by the time I'm done with all the PT."

The woman was silent for a while, then Chase heard her sigh.

"I shouldn't have let what I've heard cloud a medical decision. You're right, House. I'm sorry."

Chase felt House shrug, and smiled slightly to himself.

House probably wouldn't have trusted himself with non-acetaminophen-containing painkillers a year ago.

"Alright. Here's the script. I'm going to get a wheelchair."

House got off the table; Chase heard him stumble a little bit.

The younger doctor didn't move to catch him.

He sighed, righting himself.

The door opened, and Chase caught the sound of a familiar voice explaining his insurance coverage to the receptionist.

He froze.

The door shut.

His hand, still loosely gripping House's, received a quick, awkward squeeze.

He took a deep breath, and nodded.

* * *

"House, what happened?" asked Cameron, as he and Chase entered the differential room, Chase's hand on the back of the wheelchair.

"Tore my hamstring running the hundred-meter dash."

Chase snorted.

"House…" said Cameron, voice sounding like a child being told they couldn't have any candy, "what happened?"

"The thigh isn't strong enough to bear my weight without damaging the muscle. It just got magnified over time," he admitted, grudgingly. Better they knew the fairly benign truth than have them bugging him because they were worried it was something more serious.

"You in pain?" asked Foreman's voice.

"Given the completely obvious straight answer to that question, I'm gonna assume you meant to ask whether my judgment is going to be compromised. It isn't."

* * *

"You *cough* saw a pain *cough* specialist?" asked Wilson, swallowing.

House frowned, watching the oxygen saturation wavering on Wilson's status monitor.

"Yeah," he said, distractedly, "Marian Chang."

Wilson frowned, watching House watch the monitor.

"Why the look?" he asked, then started coughing.

"Because you should be getting better by now."

Wilson sighed, which provoked another bout of coughing.

"Not really. It turned out to be viral pneumonia."

House groaned.

"Better you than me…" he muttered, shaking his head.

Wilson smirked tiredly.

House sighed, watching him.

"Get better," he ordered, then turned the wheelchair around and pushed himself out of the room.

Wilson laughed quietly to himself, then started coughing again.

* * *

Chase yawned, leaning against House on the couch, as lethal weapon four played for the eightieth time, the 'borrowed' heating blanket from the hospital draped over top of him, Wilson's laugh sounding from the easy chair.

House's hand wedged itself down in-between his side and the couch, checking Chase's temperature.

He was fine, still. The cold air of the apartment and the heating blanket he was under were balancing out.

Chase yawned again, which earned him an arm over his shoulder, as he snuggled down, head resting in the corner of House's hip.

He felt himself drifting off, and didn't fight it.

A warm hand was rubbing back and forth over his arm as he slipped into sleep.

* * *

He jumped, as a loud crash sounded through the apartment.

"What? What happened?" asked Chase, sitting bolt upright.

"House, are you ok?" asked Wilson's voice, sounding worried.

Chase stood.

"What happened?"

"I think his leg gave out."

Chase worked his way over to where Wilson's voice was coming from, until he could hear the sound of House's slightly labored breathing.

He accidently ran into Wilson's side, and stopped.

"Sorry."

"Not a problem," said Wilson, reaching up and guiding Chase's hand down to House's shoulder.

"House?" asked Chase, frowning. House was warm beneath his hand, and his shirt was damp.

And he wasn't answering.

"House, come on. Say something."

"Something," House grunted.

Chase sighed, shaking his head, and he and Wilson helped House stand.

"Are you ok? You're shaking?"

Movement.

"House…" said Chase, tiredly.

"Kinda."

Chase bit his lip, then let go as House started to move.

If he tried to help House walk, he would probably end up running one or both of them into the coffee table.

"I know what you're gonna say," said House, without prompting. Chase guessed Wilson had been about to say something, "but I'd rather fall than use a wheelchair in my own home. Ok?"

"Not ok. The point isn't to keep you from falling in public; it's to give your muscles a break."

"Dammit, Wilson! Enough's enough, alright? Just leave it alone!"

"What?" started Wilson, "why are you so upset?"

"You don't wanna feel like it's dictating your life," said Chase, suddenly.

Wilson fell silent.

"You're rejecting as much change as you can. You're just trying to retain as much normalcy as you can. Too bad. You'll get back to it, but right now, you gotta run into chairs."

There was a long silence, while Wilson tried to figure out what the hell Chase was talking about, and House considered Chase's admonishment.

House sighed, finally.

"Yeah, fine."

* * *

Chase smiled, as he heard the familiar knock on the door.

He stood, walking over to answer it.

"Hi guys," he said, grinning, "I just need to get my shoes on."

"How did you know it was us?" asked Foreman's voice.

Chase grinned.

"I'm psychic."

"Uh-huh," said Cameron, and Chase could hear the smile in her voice as he sat down, locating the smaller, less fancy sneakers set neatly together next to the pile by the door and pulling them on his feet.

"House," called Chase, "I'm going!"

"Don't get too drunk to drive!" came back from the direction of the kitchen.

Chase laughed, shaking his head, and followed Foreman and Cameron's footsteps down the stairs, extending his stick as he went.

"So," started Foreman, as they sat at the bar, "how is he?"

"How is who?" asked Chase, taking a sip of his beer.

"House. In bed."

Chase spluttered.

"What?!"

Cameron laughed.

Chase was silent for a while.

"He's… not like you would expect. He's not rough. He's not… I don't know, selfish. I think… I think he just likes being that close with someone he is close to personally."

Silence, other than the noise of the bar.

"Well, that was… less amusing than I was guessing it would be," said Foreman, awkwardly.

Chase snorted, slightly miffed at their reaction.

"How's Foreman?"

Cameron choked.

Foreman swallowed, loudly.

"Uhh…" said Cameron.

Chase smirked, "House now officially owes me fifty bucks."

Foreman groaned.

* * *

Chase curled up against House on the couch, cold.

"I don't like winter," he said, frowning.

House laughed.

"Move back to Australia."

Chase rolled his eyes.

House put an arm around the younger doctor's shoulders, yawning.

"I don't like it either," he admitted, "makes my leg hurt more."

Chase sighed.

"Yeah."

They sat there for a while, in companionable silence.

"You talk to your dad?"

Chase shook his head.

"No. I don't know what to say. Every time I hear his voice, I feel all the anger and stuff rising up. I feel like I'm gonna explode."

"You… wanna talk about it?" asked House, sounding apprehensive.

"No… I just… I wish I could get past it."

House was silent for a while.

"Maybe he doesn't deserve for you to get past it."

Chase raised his head.

"What?"

House hesitated, then sighed.

"He hurt you. He's never apologized, just said he didn't mean it. Too bad for him, he caused it."

Chase swallowed.

"You don't like your dad. You don't… I mean you just don't get along with him. I really do love my dad, I just…."

"I loved my dad," interrupted House, "I loved him for years. But there's only so much a person can forgive."

Chase frowned.

"What?"

"There's only so much a person can forgive," repeated House, calmly.

Chase was silent.

He knew House would come out with it if he wanted to. That he could have just been making a point, and trusting Chase to not make him say more than he felt comfortable saying.

House said nothing further.

Chase didn't push.


	4. Chapter 4

Chase sighed, hand on the back of House's wheelchair as they headed towards the elevators.

House stopped, suddenly, and he nearly ran into the back of the chair.

"What?" asked Chase, frowning.

"Cuddy's yelling at Wilson. I didn't even know Wilson had been released from the hospital."

"In her office?"

"Yeah," said House, turning the chair, "I'll catch up."

"Kay," said Chase, heading towards the elevators.

"What's going on?" asked House, wheeling himself into Cuddy's office, completely ignoring her assistant's attempts to stop him verbally.

"This _idiot_ tried to sign out AMA."

"Cuddy, it's not like I'm _going_ anywhere!" said Wilson, voice hoarse, "I'm going to be _in_ the—" he broke off, coughing, leaning against Cuddy's desk.

"You can't see your patients like that," said House, pointedly.

"I know," said Wilson, regaining his breath, "but I need to get people into trials, I need to be able to do paperwork, which you keep confiscating."

"Because you need to rest, Wilson," said Cuddy, stepping towards him and placing her hand on his arm, "Brown's handling the emergencies, anything time sensitive."

Wilson tried to reply, but started coughing instead.

Cuddy gripped him around the shoulders, helping him stay upright as he coughed, violently.

"Wilson, you want to be able to help as many of your patients as you can, right?" asked House.

Wilson nodded, wiping his watering eyes.

"It's a _lot_ easier to help people if you're not dead."

* * *

House grunted, sitting on the table in the physical therapy lab as the physical therapist stretched his bad leg out.

"Alright," said Stevenson after several exercises, "you can probably start using crutches now. Only bearing a little bit of weight, mind you. Don't just carry them around while you walk."

Chase snorted.

House sighed, nodding.

* * *

Chase gripped Foreman's sleeve, frowning. House was taking a long time to get out of the car.

"Chase?" asked Cameron, sounding worried.

"Nothing," said Chase, as he heard the awkward four-part sound of House's approach.

"This is stupid," growled House.

"It'll be fun," said Cameron, brightly.

"It's still stupid."

"You're just annoyed because you didn't think of it," said Foreman.

"Shut up."

Cameron laughed.

Chase didn't mention that it was probably more that House was missing Wilson than anything else.

Chase continued to hold on to Foreman on the way in—it was noisy, inside the pub, and House had a hard enough time with the hated crutches without Chase hanging on to him.

Foreman put his hand on the back of a chair, and sat down himself.

Chase heard House making his awkward way over, and smiled in the direction the footsteps were coming from.

He heard Cameron sit down, then a chair scraping, and House's light groan.

House touched his hand, and he smiled.

"I know you're here."

Chase heard the menus being distributed, and tried to figure out where the person passing them out was standing, and if they were in earshot.

He poked House, finding the restaurant way too noisy.

"Do you have Braille menus?" asked House's voice.

"No, I'm afraid not. Sorry."

Chase nodded, and heard House scoot his chair closer so he could read the menu to the younger doctor.

Unbeknownst to Chase and House, the latter of whom was focused on reading, both Cameron and Foreman were watching them, smiling.

The bell on the door rang, and Chase gritted his teeth as a noisy group entered.

He felt House touch him on the shoulder, and shook his head.

He wasn't going to freak out.

The appetizers came, and House told him in an undertone the orientation of the shrimp, melted butter, and cocktail sauce.

* * *

A while later…

Chase sighed, hand on House's arm—the one not occupied by a forearm crutch—as they stood outside the chemo ward.

"Well?" asked House, quietly.

"I… I don't think I want to talk to him. Now, or ever."

"Ok," said House, and he felt the arm move to go around his shoulders, "that's your choice to make."

Chase nodded, standing close.

"Thanks, House."

"Not a problem."

* * *

Rowan looked up, as house's distinctive footsteps approached his bed.

"I take it… he decided he didn't want to have me in his life."

"Yeah."

House sighed.

"How could you have done that? What the hell was going through your head?"

Rowan was silent for a long time, just coughing.

"I just had to get away. From her, from her problems. I spent so long trying to deal with them, that when he refused to come with me… I just didn't have the strength. I didn't want to break his heart. I know it sounds stupid, now… but… he wasn't ready to give up on her. And I didn't have the heart to make him. Maybe if I told him why…"

House was silent, looking at the floor as he sat next to his lover's father's bed.

"You did the wrong thing. There is no forgiveness. You were simply, purely, unequivocally wrong."

"I know."

"No. you don't. it isn't something you can be forgiven for."

"I know."

"He's going to hate you. He has the right to hate you."

"I know."

"Your actions can't be forgiven."

"I know, dammit!"

"But your motives can."

Rowan blinked.

"He doesn't know why you did what you did. If he knew, he would forgive you. Not for the action, but for the intention. And that would make it hard for him to live with hating you. Don't do that to him."

Rowan looked away for a long time.

"If your father did something horrible to you…. wouldn't you want to know that he did it out of love?"

"My father did do something horrible to me. And I know he did it out of love. That only makes it harder. Things—people—are so much easier to handle and deal with when they're black and white, clear-cut, good and bad. Which is why I'm telling you—don't take that away from him. You've already made his life hard enough."

Rowan swallowed.

"Yeah, ok. I won't tell him."

House nodded, getting up.

He started to limp away, then turned, and came back over.

"And don't tell anyone what I said about my dad."

Rowan nodded.

House left.

* * *

Wilson was finally released from the hospital, though he was still stuck at home, taking it easy.

Of course, that meant he was in his office, just with the blinds drawn over the small windows oh either side of the door, so Cuddy wouldn't think he was working.

He called House the night he was released, and he, Chase and House ended up watching a law and order marathon until two in the morning.

Chase fell asleep on the couch, curled sideways against House.

Wilson smiled, watching them as House slowly drifted off as well.

He gently shook Chase's shoulder, and the blond jumped a little, waking up.

"Hey. You both fell asleep. I know House's leg doesn't appreciate him sleeping on the couch."

Chase smiled, "thanks, Wilson."

"Not a problem. I should *cough* be going."

Chase nodded, gently shaking House's shoulder.

House grunted, waking up.

"Uhn?"

"You fell asleep."

"Oh. You leaving?"

"Yeah."

"Kay. See you tomorrow."

"Right. Bye."

Chase heard Wilson leave.

Then he turned, and scooted the rest of the way on top of House, nuzzling his face.

He felt House smile.

"How-come you don't explore my face anymore?"

Chase smiled as well.

"I can get around the apartment without thinking, I can get to the office without any trouble, I memorized the layouts of every room I'm in on a regular basis, but if there's one bit of geography I know well… it's this one," he said, running his hand over the older doctor's chest, up his neck, over his face, smiling.

He felt House smile again beneath his hand.

* * *

House grunted, panting as he tossed and turned on the bed.

Chase reached over, finding House's arm, and gently placed his hand on his partner's chest.

House curled against him, and he shifted his arm around to encircle House's shoulders.

"I don't like this…"

Chase nodded, scooting closer.

"I know. Neither do I."

The room was silent for a while; just the sound of House's labored breathing echoing through the room.

"It's not as bad as it was… is it?" asked Chase, quietly.

A pause.

"You're right. It's not _as_ bad," said House, sounding slightly on-edge.

Chase sighed, resting his head on the older doctor's shoulder.

"I just meant… I would never make little of your pain, House. I just wanted to know if Chang's ideas were helping at all. I know it's still bad."

House sighed, gently running his fingers through Chase's hair.

"I don't remember what it feels like," he said, quietly, almost as an apology.

Chase raised his head a little.

"What what feels like?"

"Not being in pain. I've always remembered, but now… it's gone."

Chase was silent for a while.

"I can't remember what a sunset looks like," he said, in the same quiet tone as his partner, "it's only been two years, and I can't remember…"

He broke off.

"Do you remember what colors look like? Blue and white; red, purple, pink, yellow?"

Chase nodded.

House closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"You're standing on the roof of the hospital. There's a giant expanse of blue. It covers everything above you, and the treetops don't even come close to reaching it. It's patterned over with white feathers, horizontal layers of white, gray and blue, extending all the way down to the red brick of the campus in the distance. The sun is just disappearing behind those buildings, and as it sinks, the white slowly turns to a pale pink. The blue becomes purple, and as the sun disappears completely, the pink turns to red, and the purple becomes darker. There's a yellow glow just above the campus building. The sky above is turning to a dark blue, with the clouds just discernable, but by that building, everything is red and yellow and a deep, deep purple. The light slowly fades, and the purple becomes black, and the red and yellow become a lighter shade of it. Everything is dark and silent, except for the faint noise of cars and people on the ground below. The air slowly cools now that the sun isn't there to warm it, and you feel a slight tingling in your shoulders as you start to get cold, and you shiver a little bit. You turn around and walk down the steps, going back to the dry, chemical smelling air of the hospital."

Chase swallowed back the lump in his throat.

"And you walk out the door," he said, wiping his face on his sleeve, voice tight, "and you stand outside the front door of the hospital in the cool, evening air. You feel sleepy, but you've got work to do, so you get on your bike and drive over to the campus. The athletic fields are empty, because the teams have finished practice and gone home for dinner. The track is open, inviting. You go through the gate, and step out onto the asphalt. You start to run, you feel tired after a few minutes, but you keep going. The tiredness fades, and you start to work up a sweat. The sheer exertion feels wonderful, you can feel beads of sweat rolling down the side of your face, your lungs are on fire, your breathing is heavy, but everything feels wonderful and exhilarating. You run until you're shaking with adrenaline and exertion, and then you run some more. You finally stop and lie down on the still-warm track, the surface rough against your skin, as the cool night air blows over you, and the warmth from the track seeps into your bones. You feel like your muscles are on fire, and your heart is racing, but it feels so _good_. You lie there until you've caught your breath, and your heart has slowed back to normal pace. You get up, and walk back to your bike, the wind as you ride back to the hospital evaporates the sweat, making you shiver a little bit. Then you park and open the door, and you're back to the more mundane parts of life. But that rush is still with you, and you still feel more cheerful than you have all week."

They both know the other is crying, but neither of them mention it.

They know what the other has lost, and they know it is never coming back. And they know that only in memories and words can they experience that which they have lost again.

Only in each other.

END


End file.
